


Baby You Can Drive

by zelda_zee



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-05
Updated: 2012-11-05
Packaged: 2017-11-18 00:21:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/554831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zelda_zee/pseuds/zelda_zee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt: Bruce/Tony, vintage cars, from <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/aurilly/pseuds/aurilly">aurilly</a>. A follow up to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/408897">Tony's Brilliant Bad Idea</a>, but it can also stand alone.</p><p>Bruce can’t think of much that sounds less interesting than an auto auction, but on the other hand, nothing he’s done with Tony so far has been boring, so it’s just possible that Tony will find a way to make cars seem interesting.</p><p> </p><p>  <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/jacksnell707/7262106076/">The 1938 Talbot-Lago T150C SS</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby You Can Drive

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [gottalovev](http://archiveofourown.org/users/gottalovev/pseuds/gottalovev) for the the help and encouragement.

There’s a car Tony wants, something with a funny name that Bruce has never heard of. Tony insists it’s the most amazing car ever built (though Bruce suspects that Tony says that about every car he’s about to buy), guarantees that Bruce will fall in love with it.

“But I don’t know anything about cars, Tony,” Bruce protests, as Tony hustles him out of the lab that has been his home for the past few weeks.

“So? Did I say you need to know anything about cars? I know plenty for both of us. Now, go.” He pushes Bruce toward the elevators. “Pack.”

“Pack? Tony, what the –”

“We’re going to California.” When Bruce doesn’t move, Tony claps his hands. “Chop-chop, the plane’s a-waitin’.”

“Wait, what plane? Why are we – are _you_ \- going to California?”

“ _We_ are going to California to attend a very exclusive automobile auction, where I intend to part ways with an absolutely shocking amount of money in return for the best example of one of the most gorgeous cars ever built. Seriously, this thing will knock your socks off, baby.”

Tony saunters closer with that crooked smile and sway-hipped walk combination that always makes Bruce’s breath catch. He takes Bruce’s face between his hands and plants one on Bruce’s lips, a nice, warm, firm, very _convincing_ kiss. Bruce blinks at him when he pulls back, feeling a little foggy. His eyes fall to Tony’s mouth, then rise back to his eyes.

“Cars aren’t really my thing, Tony,” Bruce says, putting up a last-ditch effort at dissuasion. 

“Yeah, but am I your thing?” Tony rests his arms on Bruce’s shoulders, leaning close to nuzzle his ear. “I am, aren’t I, Dr. Banner?” he says softly, his lips tickling Bruce’s earlobe. His tongue traces the edge of Bruce’s ear and Bruce shivers, his eyes fluttering closed. “I think I am. I think I’m very much your thing.”

“You are,” Bruce agrees, a little hoarsely, his fingers digging into Tony’s shoulders. “You’re my thing, Tony.”

“And I,” his mouth travels down Bruce’s neck along the muscle, “am going to LA, and _you_ ,” he places a kiss on the sensitive spot at the join of his shoulder, then bites gently, “need to come with me.”

“Okay,” Bruce sighs. “Sure. Why not?”

He really doesn’t know why he even bothers protesting when Tony’s made up his mind. Bruce can’t think of much that sounds less interesting than an auto auction, but on the other hand, nothing he’s done with Tony so far has been boring, so it’s just possible that Tony will find a way to make cars seem interesting. And if not, it won’t matter much because, as Tony said, he is at present very much Bruce’s thing, and chances are good that with Tony around Bruce won’t even notice the cars.

 

The auction is at some kind of private club in a swanky neighborhood in what Bruce assumes must still be LA, though they had to drive a long way from the house in Malibu to get there. There’s a wide, grassy lawn with about a hundred cars parked on it, from vintage autos that appear to be older than the Model T to sporty roadsters that look like the type of car James Bond might drive. There are big white tents dotted around the grounds, filled with vendor tables, buffets and cocktail bars. Tony ignores them, making a beeline for a sleek, curvy vehicle glinting darkly at the far side of the field. 

Bruce trails behind, distracted by the scene; willowy, blond women stepping carefully across the lawn in their impractical heels, men who exude an air of easy authority despite the Hawaiian shirts and linen trousers they wear. Bruce is grateful that Tony had urged him to switch out his cords for a pair of gray slacks and his rumpled denim shirt for a crisp white button-down. Tony is an anomaly in his navy blue silk suit, but try as he might, Bruce can’t imagine him in a Hawaiian shirt. It makes him smile to picture it, in fact.

The cars are distracting as well. Bruce doesn’t know what any of them are, but he has to admit that at least a few of them are quite beautiful. Some look like racing cars and others are long, black, powerful-looking touring machines. He recognizes a Mercedes-Benz hood ornament, the iconic silver Jaguar, the rearing stallion of Ferrari. That’s about as much as he knows, car-wise. To Bruce they’re just vehicles, nice ones undoubtedly, but not anything to get excited about.

When Bruce catches up with him, Tony is circling his prey, peering under the propped-up hood, ducking into the open driver’s side door to peer inside. The body of the car is a deep, vibrant, almost iridescent purple. Tony has a suit of that exact color.

Bruce perceives immediately why Tony wants this one. It isn’t like any of the other cars on display. The design is unique, the lines unconventional. It’s flashy, obviously expensive, exquisitely stylish. It looks impractical, temperamental; like it would take some time to master, like it might give anyone who tries a lot of grief. It’s smart and sleek and gorgeous. Frankly, it reminds him of Tony.

“This is it. 1938 Talbot-Lago,” Tony says in an awe-filled voice, as Bruce comes to stand beside him. “One of a kind. Holy crap, I could come in my pants just looking at her.” 

Bruce chuckles. Tony is totally entranced, staring avidly at the car. Desire is written on his face, not exactly the same expression Tony has directed at him on several highly memorable occasions, but close. Maybe he should feel jealous.

Bruce bends over to peer at the sign stuck into the ground near the car. “Talbot-Lago T150-C SS Teardrop Coupé by Figoni et Falaschi”, he reads aloud. He straightens, examining the car with a critical eye. “It doesn’t have side mirrors.”

“Details, details,” Tony mutters.

“The windows are small, Tony. I’m pretty sure you’d need side mirrors.”

“Just look at it.” Tony gestures at the car, sounding a little breathless. “It’s perfection incarnate. It doesn’t need anything.”

“If you say so,” Bruce says doubtfully. It definitely needs side mirrors.

Tony’s arm slides around his waist and he pulls Bruce tight against his side. He’s wearing a pair of ridiculous pink-tinted sunglasses, but behind them his eyes are shining with excitement. 

“We’re buying this car today, baby,” Tony crows. “She’s gonna be all ours.”

“Yours,” Bruce corrects. “She’ll be yours, Tony. Unless someone outbids you.”

Tony throws back his head and laughs. “You’re cute, you know that? No, really, you are.” He leans closer and whispers in Bruce’s ear. “Here’s a secret – nobody’s going to outbid us.” He gives Bruce’s ear a nip before drawing back and circling around the car to examine the engine again, and Bruce follows, his ear tingling distractingly.

 

Tony buys the Talbot for $4,475,000 and he couldn’t be more pleased with himself. Bruce waits at the back of the auction tent while Tony, gesturing with a glass of champagne in his hand, holds court and talks automobiles with some of the other bidders while some nameless assistant who Bruce had never seen before makes arrangements. Tony is insisting that they drive the car out of there, which is apparently not how things are normally done, which has thrown the auction staff into a tizzy.

Eventually, Bruce wanders out onto the lawn where the cars are, sipping his champagne and letting the late afternoon sunshine warm him. In the distance, workers are swarming around the Talbot, washing and waxing and vacuuming, even though it had been spotless to begin with. 

Tony joins him some time later, a full glass of champagne in one hand and a bottle dangling from the other, with which he tops off Bruce’s glass. He slings an arm over Bruce’s shoulder, leaning in to whisper, “You abandoned me.”

“You were busy.” Bruce refrains from reminding Tony that he’d been surrounded by attractive women and had seemed to be enjoying the attention.

“It was awful,” Tony claims. “Don’t ever do that to me again.” He leans closer to nuzzle into Bruce’s hair, kiss him behind his ear, right on the spot that always made him shiver.

Bruce can’t help smiling, ducking his head as he feels his cheeks heat. Tony’s casual displays of affection don’t make him uncomfortable exactly, but he never quite knows what to do with himself when Tony initiates one. Tony doesn’t seem to care if anyone notices or what they might think if they do. Bruce worries about what people will think of Tony, but when he expressed his concerns to Tony he shrugged them off, claiming that his reputation is such that a little expression of bisexuality on his part was hardly likely to cause much of a stir. Perhaps so, Bruce countered, but the public – not to mention Stark Industries’ shareholders – might not take it so well that Tony is in, well not a _relationship_ exactly, but _involved_ with a –

“Don’t you say it.”

“Tony – ”

“If you say monster, so help me –” Tony had interrupted.

“Tony –”

“Shut up, shut up, _shut up_.” And his mouth had been on Bruce’s, his tongue in Bruce’s mouth and his hands in Bruce’s hair, and that had been the end of the discussion.

So now Bruce lets Tony touch him and kiss him even though he feels eyes upon them, and he tries not to care though he can’t help feeling relieved when he notices that the activity around the car has finally calmed. As Bruce watches, a man in a suit takes the driver’s seat and, after a moment, the Talbot rolls slowly in their direction.

“Finally!” Tony exclaims as the vehicle approaches, depositing the bottle and glass he’s been holding in a handy planter. He turns to Bruce. “Are you ready for the sweetest ride of your life?” He pauses. “Wait a minute, scratch that. I was saving that line for another occasion.” He leers at Bruce, which makes him laugh and shake his head and then the car is there and the nameless assistant is trying to get Tony to sign some papers, but Tony just grabs the keys and slides into the driver’s seat. He leans out of the window, calling “C’mon Banner, get a move on, we don’t have all day,” so Bruce jogs over to the passenger side and gets in even though he’s pretty sure that riding in a car with very small windows and no side mirrors is not a smart move.

Tony floors it, gravel spraying behind them, auction workers and guests scattering to avoid the fishtailing car. Bruce reaches for the seat belt only to find that there isn’t one. Great, he thinks, just great.

“There aren’t any seatbelts, Tony.”

Tony just hums, attention focused on the gear shifter as the car accelerates smoothly into fourth. 

“Don’t need them.” Tony’s adjusting the rear view mirror, which is a very small oval sticking out at an odd angle on a spindly little arm. “You’re perfectly safe. I have no intention of getting in an accident.”

“Well, if you do, I’ll be fine, you know,” Bruce reminds him. “You’re the one who’ll be in trouble.”

Tony turns to him with a rakish grin. “You won’t let anything bad happen to me. The big guy’s got my back.”

It still amazes Bruce, the way Tony’s so casual about the Other Guy, just tossing out comments like that in the course of conversation, as if the fact that Bruce is prone to turning into an ‘enormous green rage monster’, as Tony said when they first met, is no big deal. He just can’t understand why Tony _trusts_ him – though the Other Guy _did_ save Tony when he came hurtling down out of the sky, so he guesses Tony’s faith is grounded in experience. Still, to Bruce it seems like a pretty big leap of faith.

Tony drives back roads through wooded canyons with steep, vertiginous curves. Bruce didn’t even know there were roads like this anywhere near LA. The Talbot-Lago actually handles better than he expected, taking the turns easily and with plenty of pick up on the hills. Tony is focused on driving, getting the hang of the gears and the steering, which seems to take a bit of muscle. Bruce rolls down his window and studiously avoids contemplating sight lines and limited visibility, zoning out to the flickering sunlight coming through the overhanging trees and the deep bass roar of the engine.

He must doze off because he starts when the car comes to a stop, and after a few alarming-sounding groans the engine stills. For a moment everything seems very quiet, but then Bruce can hear the buzz of insects, a bird chirping nearby, the sound of a dog barking in the distance, cars on the streets below. Through the windshield there’s a view of downtown and the ever-present purple-beige haze of smog, the foothills rising into the cloudless blue sky just beyond.

“We stopped?” Bruce asks fuzzily.

Tony looks at him over the top of his sunglasses. “Very astute, Professor.”

“Why have we stopped?”

“We have stopped,” Tony turns to him and leans close, his eyes bright and intent, “because it’s time to christen the new car.” Tony’s lost his jacket and tie, the two top buttons of his shirt undone, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looks rakish and delicious, especially when he grins salaciously and all but crawls across the seat toward Bruce, who laughs, scooting backwards towards the door.

“Tony.” He reaches a hand out to hold Tony back. “It’s broad daylight, for God’s sake. We might –”

“Get. Caught,” Tony finishes for him. “Ooh, wouldn’t that be terrible, caught being naughty boys, committing perverse, unnatural acts where anyone could see.” His grin widens. “Sounds like fun to me.”

“Tony, really, I don’t think we should.”

“Weak, very weak, Doctor Banner. You’ll have to do better than that.”

And Tony’s right, he is weak, because when Tony smiles at him a certain way Bruce finds it very hard to resist and Tony is smiling that way now, as he reaches out and unbuttons the top button of Bruce’s shirt. It makes Bruce’s breath come a little quicker, the light brushes of Tony’s fingers, warm against his skin. Tony’s got good hands, hands that are strong and dexterous, that build amazing things, that manipulate complex machinery with ease and confidence, that fly across keyboards at lightning speed. Hands that can turn Bruce into a quivering, panting, mindless mess.

Tony slides closer, ghosts his lips along Bruce’s jaw and nips at his chin as he unbuttons the second button. 

“You’re trying to seduce me,” Bruce says, and it’s meant to be a protest, but it comes out too breathless. He closes his eyes, still floored at the idea that Tony, who could have pretty much anyone he wanted, for some unfathomable reason has decided that he wants Bruce. Not only that, but he’ll actually devote time and effort to _seducing_ him when, if he only knew, Tony could have him pretty much any time he wanted just for the asking.

“Is it working?” Tony asks, drawing back a bit. “I’m usually very convincing. Let’s see…” He affects a thoughtful expression as he slides his hand down Bruce’s torso, over bare skin, as Tony has somehow finished unbuttoning his shirt without Bruce noticing, over his slacks to fit his hand over Bruce’s crotch and squeeze. “Hmm, yes, I think it must be working.” He grins as he starts unbuckling Bruce’s belt.

“I wanna suck you off,” Tony says, and his voice has gone low and rough. His sex voice – Bruce knows it now, and it always makes him want; that tone, it does crazy things to him inside. “Want your cock in my mouth, down my throat, want you to fuck my face, I can take it, you know, I’m good at it, it’s one of my many talents.” 

“Tony, no. Not a good idea. We’re – we’re taking it slow, remember?” Bruce tries to sound firm, but Tony’s thumb is rubbing in such a way that it’s entirely distracting, and so, so good. Bruce has to keep his focus, because there’s a reason why Tony’s mouth is not a good idea, why he has decided that Tony’s mouth is off-limits, only it’s very hard to remember what that reason could possibly be at the moment.

“We’ve been taking it slow,” Tony says softly, as he slowly draws Bruce’s zipper down. “We’ve taken it so slow, if you only knew, compared to my usual pace, how very, very slow we have been taking it. I’ve been a _very_ good boy, and now I think I deserve a reward.” 

Bruce groans, a hand fisting in Tony’s hair, bringing him in for a deep, open-mouthed kiss. Tony surges up, plasters himself along Bruce’s front, fitting his hips between Bruce’s thighs and grinding. Bruce’s head falls back and Tony sucks at his neck, no doubt leaving a bruise that is going to embarrass Bruce later. Bruce can’t think, not with Tony like this, hungry for him, his hardening cock pressing into Bruce’s hip, his mouth hot and wet against Bruce’s skin. 

Desire flares hot and sudden, like gasoline poured on a banked-down fire. It scares him, it still scares him, despite all Tony’s done to try to make it okay, despite how he’s waited, with uncharacteristic patience, for Bruce to be ready for something more than hand jobs. It’s not that Bruce doesn’t want more, God no, not that, never that. It’s just that he doesn’t trust himself, can’t bear to imagine hurting Tony and Bruce hasn’t been able to convince himself it’ll be okay, that he’ll be able to stay in control with Tony’s mouth on him.

“I can hear you thinking, Professor,” Tony chides, his voice muffled against Bruce’s collarbone. “Trying to talk yourself out of it.” He looks up at Bruce, resting his chin on Bruce’s chest. “C’mon baby,” Tony purrs. “I wanna do nasty, dirty, _filthy_ things to you in my hot new car, is that too much to ask?”

Bruce meets his eyes and they’re wide and dark and full of lewd, wicked promises, but beneath that there’s just _Tony_ , the only person since the accident who has ever treated Bruce like he had something to offer the world – like he was someone desirable, someone _normal_. When he’s with Tony he can almost believe, just for a little while, that there’s nothing wrong with him.

Bruce reaches out and touches Tony’s cheek. “No, it’s not.” His hand shakes just a little bit. “I don’t want to hurt you, Tony.”

Tony looks him straight in the eyes, serious for once. “You won’t.” Tony says it fast, and with unwavering conviction. “C’mon, baby, take that leap with me.”

Bruce runs a hand through Tony’s hair, and Christ, what did he ever do to deserve this, Tony practically begging to suck his cock? Bruce manages a smile, can’t quite banish the fear, telling himself that it’ll be okay. He’s got to trust Tony on this, because he doesn’t know if he can trust himself. He wants it too much, can’t bear to deny himself any longer, even if it means risking everything. 

And Bruce closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, shoves all his doubts and fears away, and nods.

Tony grabs his hand, presses a quick kiss to his palm. “That’s my boy,” he says, flashing Bruce a wide smile and before Bruce has time to second guess himself Tony is urging him to lift his hips and tugging his trousers and underwear down his thighs.

“Bruce, so help me God, if you stop me –” Tony says, as he scrambles up onto the seat to be in a better position to get his face down in Bruce’s lap and his mouth on Bruce’s dick. He sounds like he’s already had Bruce’s cock in his throat, voice scratchy and hoarse. “Let me do this, I can make it so good for you.”

“ _Jesus_ , Tony,” Bruce gasps. Tony licks, hums, tongue curling softly around him, swirling and flicking, and his lips encircle, embrace, sweetly, gently, and his beard tickles and his mouth, oh God, his _mouth_. Bruce looks down and it’s unbelievable, breathtaking, as Tony glances up at him, eyes so dark Bruce can’t even see the irises.

Tony fits his lips over Bruce’s cock and Bruce tries not to lose it entirely as he slides down, gorgeous suction and heat and wetness and the sight of Tony’s head bent over him, the silky feel of Tony’s hair between his fingers, it’s a thing of beauty. Tony’s hands move over his hips, his thighs, gliding up his sides, somehow both soothing and arousing. Tony’s mouth on him, around him, taking him in, taking him so far down.

“Tony, oh my _God_ ,” Bruce whispers in awe.

Bruce’s hand tightens in Tony’s hair, his other arm flailing until his knuckles hit the dashboard and he grabs on. Tony’s nose bumps his pubic bone, and he’s buried inside Tony, can feel the pressure of his throat around him and it’s beyond amazing. His hips want to rise, want to thrust, the urge is almost uncontrollable. He’s got a fist full of Tony’s hair at the back of his head, and he wants to keep him there, hold him down and make him take it. Tony swallows around him and lust surges through Bruce, scorching and powerful. He growls, hips shoving up, pushing his cock impossibly deeper and Tony makes a little gagging noise that has Bruce pushing him away and scrambling back toward the door to make some space between them, gasping, “Oh shit, Tony, I’m so sorry, are you okay? Jesus, I didn’t mean to do that, I just kind of lost it there for a minute.”

Tony looks up, and the sight him with his dark, glassy eyes, flushed skin, his lips already looking swollen, makes Bruce shudder, makes him have to close his eyes for a second to block Tony out so he doesn’t just grab him again and force his cock back through those reddened lips. 

“Shut up,” Tony rasps, grabbing Bruce’s hand and bringing it back to his head. “Fuckin’ turns me on. Don’t stop.”

“Tony, I shouldn’t – it’s too – I can’t be sure it’s okay. I don’t know, I just don’t know.” And the not knowing is killing him.

“Well there’s only one way to find out.” Tony gives the head of Bruce’s cock a series of filthy licks that make Bruce’s toes curl in his shoes, then fits his mouth tight around Bruce and takes him in again, sucking his way down, and Bruce doesn’t have it in him to protest, couldn’t possibly make Tony stop, not when Tony wants it, not when he _insists_ , not when Tony groans around his cock like taking Bruce into his throat is the best thing he’s ever felt.

Tony pushes back against Bruce’s hand on his head and Bruce dares to tighten his hold, pumps in deep, a couple of cautious thrusts as Tony’s throat flutters convulsively around him. He’d think Tony would want him to stop but for his half-stifled moans and the rhythmic movement of his hips as he ruts against the seat of the car, the muscles in his ass visible beneath the tight-fitting trousers, flexing with each thrust. The sight makes Bruce’s mouth go dry, to think that Tony likes it that much, likes Bruce’s hand tight on his head, setting the pace, making Tony fuck his mouth down on Bruce’s cock. 

Tony makes a high, whining sound when Bruce pushes him down, swallows desperately, but drool is leaking out, making everything wet. God, Bruce thinks, he’s going to be a mess, not to mention the upholstery of Tony’s precious new car. Tony doesn’t seem to care though, or maybe he’s just too far gone, all his energies focused on what he’s doing, taking Bruce apart piece by piece. 

In a daze Bruce watches Tony’s dark head bobbing between his legs, watches him hump the car seat and he’s sure it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen in his life. The sounds are filthy, pornographic, wet, slurping noises and moans and grunts, animal sounds that make Bruce’s skin break out in goose bumps despite the stifling heat. He’s pouring sweat, it’s soaking the cotton of his shirt, trickling down between his shoulder blades. His head falls back onto the open window, the bright sunlight orange against the backs of his eyelids, but it doesn’t matter because he’s seeing stars, bright pops of light against the darkness behind his closed eyes. He groans, tension coiling tight in his core, his muscles contracting, shuddering. He’s got Tony firmly in his grip, holds him still and fucks into his mouth and he’s not being careful, not being considerate, he’s just taking, taking what he wants, what Tony’s offering and Tony’s letting him, urging him on with the painful grip of his fingers on Bruce’s thighs, and the lewd, fucked out noises he’s making and the way his mouth has gone soft and pliant and his throat open, welcoming, inviting, begging Bruce to fill him up and Bruce does, holding Tony to him as he comes, blind, deaf and gasping, pouring himself into Tony, every cell in his body lit up bright and singing.

When it ends, Tony pulls back, gasping for breath. He wipes ineffectually at his chin with the back of his hand, leans up shakily onto his knees and scrabbles at his fly, jerking the zipper down.

“You,” he mumbles, words coming out round-edged and indistinct. “God, you make me crazy.” He groans as he wraps a hand around is cock, starts to stroke fast and rough. His eyes flicker up to Bruce’s and there are tears leaking out of the corners, but Tony doesn’t even seem to notice, his gaze latched onto Bruce’s like he can’t look away. His beard is soaked, saliva and come gleaming on his chin, around his abused mouth. He’s a mess, a mess Bruce made of him and it’s not pretty but it is hot, so hot to see him like this, and to know it’s all Bruce’s fault 

Bruce pushes two fingers between Tony’s swollen, puffy lips and he sucks on them, sloppy and uncoordinated. His mouth feels overheated, inflamed, as he swallows wetly. It makes Bruce shudder hard, an unexpected jolt of the pleasure that he’d thought had ended. Tony moans around his fingers, his eyes squeezing shut, his body going rigid. Bruce wraps a hand around Tony’s, feels his cock jerk as he shakes apart, keeps the presence of mind to palm the tip, catching Tony's come before it can land on the leather seat.

Tony falls against him, his head resting on Bruce’s shoulder. “Jesus,” he whispers, his breath hot against Bruce’s skin. “You really are something, Banner. Hidden depths, man, hidden depths.”

“Shhh,” Bruce says, because Tony’s voice sounds wrecked, like it hurts him even to whisper.

He smoothes the hand that had been in Tony’s mouth over his hair, worrying gently at the snarls he put in it. It’s probably a lost cause without a comb; maybe even with one.

“One of these days, Tony,” Bruce sighs, “we’re gonna go too far.” Tony makes a protesting noise against Bruce’s shoulder. “And we won’t even know it until it’s too late.” Tony shakes his head, back and forth, face pressed into Bruce’s chest. “We _will_. I can’t help myself when you – when you get me going. I can’t hold back.”

“Don’t want you to,” Tony says, his voice scraping like sandpaper on metal. “You’ll never believe it’s okay to let go unless you see for yourself.” He swallows audibly, the sound of it making Bruce wince. “Anyway,” he raises his head, gives Bruce a dirty smirk. “Guess you’ve probably figured out by now that I kind of like it rough. So that works out well for both of us.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Bruce says, brushing a thumb gently over Tony’s bruised mouth.

“Oh baby,” Tony says softly, looking Bruce square in the eye. “Yes, you do. No –” he continues as Bruce opens his mouth to protest. “You do, at least a little, and I’m okay with that. Like I said, I like it rough.” He grins. “And maybe it’s good for you to blow off some steam between the sheets, you ever think of that? It might keep the Other Guy from popping in unannounced. Plus, it’s hot as hell. Jesus, Banner.” He shakes his head, looking at Bruce in disbelief. “Who’d have thought? Have you always been like that or is it just since the accident?”

Bruce grimaces. “Always, I guess,” he says softly. “I’ve tried to keep it to a minimum.” He sighs, not meeting Tony’s eyes. “I don’t really like that side of myself.”

“Yeah, I could’ve guessed.” Tony sits back, smoothing the hair back from his forehead. He purses his lips, thinking. “I can work with that though.” He looks at Bruce like he’s a puzzle, some equation that Tony’s on the brink of figuring out. It’s a look Bruce recognizes from their many hours of working together. “Yeah, I think I can work with that.”

Bruce isn’t sure what Tony means by that, and he doesn’t feel like pursuing it at that moment. He’s hot and sticky and his nice, gray slacks are ruined and it appears that his shirt is missing a couple of buttons.

“Do you have a handkerchief?” Bruce asks. He still has a handful of Tony’s jizz and it’s getting pretty gross. 

“Yeah, here.” Tony fishes a ridiculously inadequate scrap of blue and purple silk out of his suit pocket

Tony makes a face when he sees what Bruce wants it for. “You can keep that, by the way. My gift to you. Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

And of course, Bruce wouldn’t, because Tony has given him a lot, more than he can ever repay. Fortunately, Tony isn’t the least bit interested in repayment.

“Well, I’d say we christened her in style,” Tony says, as he pulls back onto the road. “C’mon, you’ve got to admit, she’s something special.”

Bruce settles back into the seat, trying to get comfortable. It doesn’t recline, of course, and now that they’re not busy groping each other, Bruce can feel a twinge in his back from where he must’ve pulled a muscle. But he guesses it could be worse – if a sore back is the only negative consequence to arise out of Tony’s insistence on risk-taking, well, Bruce can live with that.

“Sure thing, Tony,” he says, bracing himself as Tony takes a turn too fast, then accelerates out of it, the engine revving smoothly as they head down the canyon toward the sea.


End file.
